


Symphony

by MizJoely



Series: Bittersweet Symphony [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, PWP, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third and last in this tiny little series. Molly and Sherlock celebrate her journey from "bitter" to "sweet".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symphony

When Molly arrived at the designated trysting place, she wasn't sure what to expect, other than Sherlock being there. She glanced nervously around the deserted hall before approaching the door, but as promised no workmen or staff were in sight. She slipped into the linens storage cupboard and gasped with stunned pleasure at the sight that met her eyes: soft lighting from artificial candles set on the edges of every shelf, floor to ceiling, and a pile of pillows and blankets covering most of the floor, instantly turning the utilitarian space into a minimalist’s vision of a romantic setting straight out of 1001 Arabian Nights.

“Drat, you got here quicker than I expected.”

Sherlock’s voice came from behind her, but since he sounded more bemused than annoyed Molly chose to be forgiving and overlook his rudeness. Especially since he’d gone to so much trouble to set this up for the two of them; she’d honestly expected a storage cupboard snog to be less romantic and more frantic by nature. She turned to grin at him, stepping out of the way as he sidled into the cramped space and set the bottle of wine and two glasses he’d snagged (from where? When had he had the time?) onto the lowest shelf. Then he pulled the door shut, did something to the lock and without another word pulled Molly into his arms for their third – and sweetest – kiss.

Molly tiptoed up and hugged him close when the kiss ended, sighing happily as she nestled her head on his shoulder. Sherlock’s arms encircled her waist and she decided she’d never felt happier…or naughtier. “Um, Sherlock, you do know I only have an hour break, right? And the workmen are going to be back soon as well,” she said after a moment, reluctantly loosening her grasp in order to peer up at him. “So the wine’s a nice gesture, I love it, but we might have to save it for la…”

He kissed her again, not allowing her to finish her sentence, then brushed his lips against her ear before murmuring, “Actually, you’ve gone home sick, your replacement is already on his way. Sanjay isn’t too much of an idiot, he won’t make a mess of whatever paperwork you’ve left for him to process. And oh dear, the workers were called to an emergency project on the opposite side of London, no one will be back here until tomorrow or possibly the day after. Imagine that.”

Molly stared at Sherlock through the entirety of this remarkable speech, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He grinned unrepentantly, adding in an off-hand tone, “Having a brother who actually IS the British government comes in handy once in a while. He sends his greetings, and says, quote, ‘do tell my brother to try not to mess things up for a change,’ unquote.” He pulled a face, then shrugged and reached for her lab coat, pushing it off her shoulders while simultaneously kicking off his shoes. “And if those precautions aren’t enough, there might be a sign on the main door now, warning that this area is under quarantine and directing all calls to Mycroft’s PA.” His grin turned, well, evil was the only word Molly could think of as he added, “She won’t be pleased, but maybe it’ll inspire her to actually put down her phone for a change. Speaking of which…” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, ostentatiously switched it off, and laid it on the shelf above his head. “Out of reach, out of sight, out of signal and out of mind,” he proclaimed, and that. Was. IT.

Molly yanked him down by the collar, growling a bit as she snogged the breath out of him, fingers eventually loosening their hold and scrabbling at his buttons. It was the goddammed sexiest thing any man had ever done for her, all of it; the setting, the lengths he’d gone to to ensure their privacy, even the way he shut off the fucking phone was a turn-on right now.

Sherlock was right there with her, tugging her jumper over her head – they had to break the kiss for that but slammed their mouths back together as soon as the garment cleared her ponytail – nimbly undoing the buttons to her vibrant purple blouse, pulling it free of her khakis, then ably assisting her in removal of said khakis. He took his time with that part as Molly toed off her ballet flats, sinking to his knees and pressing a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her body as he helped her lift her legs to kick away the trousers. When his mouth landed on her damp knickers she felt her knees literally buckling and steadied herself by grabbing his shoulders. The moan that escaped her lips as she felt his tongue probing at her through the soft cotton was nothing short of obscene, as was the way he slipped his fingers beneath the elastic and shifted the neon green fabric aside to give his mouth better access to her burning flesh.

Sherlock Holmes was a meticulous planner, always had been, no matter how haphazard his life might seem from the outside at times. Once he’d returned from his two year absence burning down what remained of Jim Moriarty’s criminal empire, there were two things he wanted most: John Watson’s forgiveness for being put through emotional hell, and Molly Hooper. He’d obtained the first after a few false starts, but his second goal had been stymied by the presence of an engagement ring on Molly’s hand.

Now, that obstacle had been removed; Molly was no longer engaged to what’s-his-name, she was no longer trying to pretend she wasn’t still madly in love with Sherlock, and the two of them were finally in the same place, emotionally and literally. 

He loved the sounds she made as he stroked his tongue along her labia, the way her moist flesh felt beneath his lips and fingers, the musky taste of her, the slight pain in his shoulders from where she was digging her nails into his own flesh. He loved everything about this moment, from its inevitability to the fact that he’d fought it for so long; after all, if he’d given in sooner, then this moment would never have occurred. He thought about articulating that thought to Molly, but a quick glance at her tightly-shut eyes and the expression of fierce concentration on her face told him it might be best to save conversation, even of so intimate a nature, for some time in the future.

After, he concluded with an internal chortle, he’d finished turning her into a wet mess.

Molly’s knees actually did buckle as Sherlock licked and suckled and fingered her to orgasm, but he was there to catch her, to ease her onto the nest he’d built up out of clean linens and pillows. He pulled a light blanket over the pair of them as she sweated and shook through the aftershocks, then finished removing his clothing and crawled in next to her. He wound his body around hers and pulled her into his arms, pressing light kisses along her neck and cheek until she turned suddenly in his arms. Their mouths crashed together as she pushed him onto his back; he groped for his trousers and fished a condom out of one pocket, handing it to her and watching eagerly as she tore open the foil packet. 

Molly didn’t hesitate; she rolled the condom onto Sherlock’s cock, fingers lingering as she knelt above him. He seemed content to allow her to take the lead now, after giving her one of the most mind-blowing orgasms she’d ever experienced. Determined to take advantage of his highly unusual and no doubt short-lived passivity, Molly clambered into position, eager to feel him inside her now that the moment had actually come. She giggled at the thought; the moment had already come for her, and with any luck, it would come a second time as well. And possibly a third time after that…yeah, she had high expectations for sex with Sherlock, but if the way he’d used his mouth and fingers on her was anything to go by, the rumors of his inexperience were less likely to be true than the headlines dubbing him ‘Sir Shag-a-lot’ a few months back.

Speaking of which…Molly paused, unsure how to raise the subject, or if now was even the right time. But Sherlock knew all about her sexual history, so why shouldn’t she know about his? So she hovered a bit instead of sinking down onto him, feeling her resolve wavering at the teasing sensation of his cock brushing against her. “Sherlock,” she began, only to feel him twitch his hips beneath hers as his hands landed on her hips, pulling her down so that his cock fitted snugly inside her. She gasped at the movement, at the incredible sensation and reflexively leaned forward to give herself a better angle.

“No one since Irene Adler a few years back,” he gasped out, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she rolled her hips to meet his frantic upthrusts. Her hands had landed on his chest and her nails were digging into his smooth, pale skin and the sensation was so amazingly good that she completely forgot what he was talking about until he added, “No sex with Janine or anyone else since then. And that was – unnggggh, god, Molly, you feel so good! – that was strictly a one-off. Promise.” He released one hip to blindly reach up and tug her head down so he could plant a sloppy, desperate kiss on her lips.

Molly returned the kiss eagerly, satisfied with his answer and quite ready to not talk again for a good, long while. Although if it had actually been that long since he’d had sex, he might not have the stamina to last as long as she would need if she wanted to achieve a second orgasm. Oh well, no point in being selfish; after all, she and Sherlock were actually having sex, and he’d made her come once so anything else would just be icing on the…

“Oh, fuck, yes!” she shouted as she felt the tip of Sherlock’s index finger brush against her clit. It may have been a few years, but clearly he’d not forgotten a single trick. She sat up, allowing him better access, leaning her hands back on his thighs as he continued to move beneath her. Her head rolled back on her shoulders and she stared up at the ceiling, shadowy even with all the artificial candlelight Sherlock had provided, and felt herself heading for that second orgasm within minutes – a new record, one she looked forward to attempting to break in the future.

And with Sherlock Holmes involved, she suspected record-breaking sex wouldn’t be that difficult a goal to meet.

Only Molly Hooper would pause in the midst of sex – well, at the very cusp of sex – to check on her partner’s history, was Sherlock’s distracted thought when he realized the reason Molly was hovering over him wasn’t some sort of sexual delaying tactic meant to drive him into a frenzy of lust. Not that he needed much in the way of driving at the moment, but he would much rather he’d thought to explain this to her before they’d gotten completely naked, let alone to the point of utilizing one of the seven condoms he’d ‘borrowed’ after leaving the path lab earlier. It was her own fault, really; he’d planned to tell her, to explain things, only she’d gotten a rather delightfully crazed look in her eyes and snogged him and things had simply…gotten a bit out of hand, actually. He’d envisioned a slow seduction gradually leading to intercourse, but he was also capable of tossing aside a plan when it no longer applied.

Like now. He gasped out the answer to Molly’s unasked question, easily reading it in her sudden hesitation, pleased that she’d allowed him to lower her onto his straining cock first. Once she started moving against him he knew he wouldn’t last nearly as long as he wanted to, and that he would have to find a way to ensure that she reached her own pleasure before his. 

When she came, with her fingers digging into his thighs and his name on her lips, he wasn’t long in joining her. He held her when she collapsed against his chest, both of them panting and sweating and overheated. He slipped out of her and dealt with the condom, discreetly tying it off and slipping it into the small plastic bag he’d brought along for just such a purpose, then wished he’d remembered to grab a couple of bottles of water as well as the wine he’d filched from Dr. Sullivan’s office. The man was attempting to seduce one of the A&E nurses into sleeping with him, and would just have to do so without the assistance of alcohol.

As Molly snuggled against Sherlock’s chest, one leg draped over his, he thought smugly that he would never had to stoop to anything so underhanded as getting Molly drunk in order to convince her to have sex with him. It had taken him a long time to admit it, but all he ever needed to do was…be himself. The discordant symphony that was Sherlock Holmes was all Molly had ever wanted. Astonishing, but true. Just as her own quiet melody was all he needed.


End file.
